Logic & Reason
by BlushingAmbition
Summary: [Bend it Like Beckham] In the 11th hour, Joe thinks about Jess. What makes him decide to go after her? Missing moment.


Disclaimer: I own none of it

A/N: I've been sitting on this half finished piece for ages, but couldn't find the inspiration to wrap it up and post it. I found a muse this morning and now it's done. There's also a larger, multi-chapter work that I've started and if anyone reads this one and likes it, I'll continue working on my other one.

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Logically, forgetting about her was the most reasonable thing to do.

He tried to convince himself of this for what felt like the millionth time as he sat on his bed, half dressed in only a pair of jeans. A piece of crinkled, lined paper lay on his bedside table, one that he'd been staring at for at least twenty minutes, willing himself not to pick it up.

He had to let it go. Let _her_ go.

After all, in a few hours she would be a whole ocean away, making her life in another country, away from him. And he would still be here, coaching a team that she would no longer be on, dragging himself to training sessions and to games with no possibility of her lovely face being there to smile at him.

He groaned at the thought. Forgetting might be reasonable, but that sure as hell didn't mean that it was easy. A couple of weeks ago he forced himself to agree with her that it was better not to pursue anything between them. There wasn't much point, he had said. And he wanted to believe that. He tried _making_ himself believe it everyday since then. Not that it had worked for a second. When he got back to his flat that night they decided to just be friends he poured himself a glass of whisky, and in a toast to her, he promised himself that he would forget her. Of course, when he had made that promise he certainly hadn't taken into consideration how difficult it would actually be to keep it. As the days ticked down to her impending departure it became harder and harder to concentrate on anything besides her. It seemed that the image of her had been permanently burned into his memory and the more he struggled to erase it the more vivid it became.

And that freaked him out.

If he were honest with himself, everything about his feelings for her freaked him out. The sighs that escaped his lips, the dreams he had at night, the butterflies that seemed to have set up camp in his stomach: this type of crap was for teenage girls. And yet, here he was experiencing every bit of it, a grown man of 23. He was incapable of describing what he felt; all he knew was that every time he thought about her he felt an anxious warmth that would begin in the pit of his stomach and slowly radiate through his entire body, like a wave of joy. Then he'd remember that she wasn't his and a coldness, just as sudden as the warmth, would flood in and a dull ache would settle itself on his chest. It all seemed so strange and foreign to him. He felt so unlike himself, uncomfortable in his own skin over what he felt for her. And he didn't remember ever feeling this way about anyone before. There, of course, had been girls before her, but none had made him feel like this. Nothing had ever been this intense. Nothing had ever felt this real.

This was uncharted territory and he didn't know what to do with himself.

Before he could realize what he was doing, he reached a hand toward the paper and picked it up. For a few minutes he merely turned it over and over in his hands, remembering the night it had been given to him.

It was at the goodbye party that the team had hosted for Jules and Jess at Yeading's bar, two nights before. That was the last time he had seen her, the last time he would see her before she left for America. He had just realized this fact when he had seen her walk through the doors of the bar, Jules following behind her. She had worn her hair loose, the dark tresses spilling over her shoulders in waves, and she was wearing jeans. They had locked eyes briefly before she quickly looked away from him, towards her teammates who were bombarding both she and Jules with enthusiastic greetings. He would have gone to say hello himself, but his legs would not carry him and his mouth had just gone drier than a desert. In one long pull he had finished the bottle of beer that had been in his hand for ten minutes and tried to calm himself.

She was nervous, he could tell (he was too), when he had finally made his way towards where she was standing with Jules at the drinks table. Jules had quickly excused herself after he said hello to her, leaving behind an awkward silence when she was gone. While it had only been a week since he'd seen her before the party, it had felt like much longer. He had wanted to say so many things, but the words wouldn't come. She appeared to be in the same position as he was. He would open his mouth to say something, and then close it without uttering a word. She had done the same thing. They just couldn't find anything to say, opting instead to stare at the drinks in their hands. They had ended up exchanging a few forced words on the weather ("Can you believe how hot it's been this week?"), football ("Did you watch the match between Arsenal and Reading?"), and general inane chatter ("Um…")

Their drowning conversation had come to an abrupt, yet merciful end when Mel pulled Jess away to show her a stack of photographs that she'd taken over the summer. He had spent the rest of the night divvying his time between trying to act as normal as possible whenever he found himself among the same group as her or unconsciously gazing at her from across the room. Every once in a while she had looked up and caught him staring. Most of the time she'd quickly turn away, but a couple times she held his gaze unblinkingly, almost defiantly, and that familiar warmth would flood his chest and he would force himself to look away for fear he'd explode.

But he could swear that he had seen a smile playing around the corners of her lips each time.

It hadn't been until the end of the night, when she and Jules were going around the room saying their goodbyes, that he found her standing before him again. He'd been thinking about this goodbye the entire night, practiced all the things he wanted to say to her, thought he was ready. But when he was face to face with her his mind went blank and for the second time that night, words failed him.

So he just looked at her.

They had stared at each other for a long moment before she finally took a step closer to him. He had stepped closer as well, and though there was hardly any more space separating them, neither made a move.

He had been desperate to kiss her. When he couldn't take it anymore, he had slowly leaned in and his heart began to beat faster, but at the last second his lips bypassed her mouth and landed near her ear. His heart had felt like it was in his throat, causing him to choke out his next words: "I'll miss you"

Leaning back slightly, he looked into her eyes as she had whispered back "I'll miss you, too." Then he placed both hands on either side of her face. He saw her eyes flutter close and his did the same as he pressed his lips to her forehead. Time seemed to tick down in slow motion and he tried memorizing everything about this moment. When he had pulled away, her eyes were oddly bright.

"Bye Jess."

"Bye Joe."

And she walked away.

He had stared after the door she'd disappeared out of and felt an overwhelming desire to cry. He was denied the chance, however, because a moment later Jules reappeared in the doorway. She had smiled and said she'd forgotten her purse, and he had tried to respond but his voice came out hoarse, so he cleared his throat and settled on nodding. She eyed him strangely and he had turned away quickly, embarrassed. But then she had walked toward him and took his hand, balling up a paper in his fist.

"Just in case," she'd said.

"In case what?" he asked, still staring at the paper in his hand.

"In case you're one of those who leaves things until the last minute."

When he finally looked up at her he saw that she wore a vague look of sympathy. Or was it pity? Even in hindsight, he couldn't tell. "What?"

But she had said nothing more and walked out the door again.

And now, here he sat on his bed, his eyes staring intently at this scrap of paper. He read the words hastily scrawled on it. _Heathrow. Terminal 4. British Airways Flight 289. Flight leaves 12:30._

His eyes flickered to the larger red numbers on the face of his alarm clock. It was 11:23. Maybe, if he left right now he could catch her, tell her…

But what would it change?

She would still be gone. He would still be here. Her parents would still be as strict as they'd always been. They would still disapprove of her dating him.

He would still want her.

He recalled the conversation he'd had the night before with his father, the first one they'd shared in nearly two years. He still wasn't sure what had made him pick up the phone. He had just accepted the position of coach for Hounslow's new women's pro football team, and maybe he simply wanted someone to be proud of him, so he had dialed his old childhood number.

His father was clearly very shocked to hear from him, and what followed next was a reconnection between father and son that left both men highly emotional. His dad had apologized, actually _apologized_ for how hard he had pushed him, and when Joe told him about his job offer, his father had said that he was proud of him; he was sincerely proud that he hadn't let his injury keep him from football.

Jess had been right. He should have known; she had always been smarter than him. His father had even asked him, after the conversation had turned onto less emotional topics, if there was any special girl in his life. Joe had replied that no, there was none, but his mind went directly to one person.

After hanging up, he realized that he had been an idiot to have waited so long to put things right. He realized that he was no longer angry about things that had happened in the past because the past didn't mean a damn. It was the future that he should look forward to.

And he knew his future needed _her_. If he was certain of nothing else, he was certain of this one thing. Sure, logically, forgetting about her was the most reasonable thing to do, but logic and reason had nothing to do with him. Or her. Or the way he felt about her.

With a sudden energy that seemed to come from nowhere, Joe stood and walked to his wardrobe, pulled out a shirt and put it on. He was going to go for it. He was going to find her and tell her everything he felt. He was going to tell her that he didn't care that she was going to America; that he didn't care that her parents would never let her date him because it still didn't change his feelings for her. There had to be something here worth fighting for. For heaven's sake, he hadn't even kissed the girl and he couldn't get her out of his mind. He had to know if she felt the same way. And in all likelihood, she might tell him to piss off and leave her alone, that she couldn't be expected to put her life on hold when she was starting a new chapter of her life in a new country. Or maybe her mom would just beat him out of the airport with her handbag.

But he had to try anyway. Because if he didn't then he'd regret it forever. And if she felt about him the same way he felt about her, well…

He couldn't even imagine it. Well, he could, but he shouldn't. It wasn't proper, yet.

He shoved his feet into his trainers and grabbed his keys from his dresser. The piece of crumpled paper was safely tucked in his back pocket, though he didn't think he needed it. He had every word of it memorized. As he opened the door of his flat he thought to himself that this was perhaps the most foolish, most unreasonable thing he would ever do in his life

"Thankfully," he said to himself with a smile, "I'm not a reasonable man."


End file.
